


Lions of Bherna

by Ryumaru



Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Monster of the Week, Quite Literally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryumaru/pseuds/Ryumaru
Summary: While the Paladins of Voltron seek to master their connections with their Lions and bring down the Galra Empire, in another time and place, they defend the peace in a different way - they hunt monsters. Flying wyverns, titanic serpents, elder dragons, and other challenges await them as they take quests for the Guild and further the Wycademy's understanding of the world in which they live.Monster Hunter AU, where the Paladins hunt Godzilla-size creatures for a living. Rover is a cute bug that helps Pidge, Allura and Coran still aren't human but they aren't aliens, and Lance's ego is more swollen than usual. Oh, and a dinosaur might try to eat their faces.





	1. Brother, Where Art Maccao?

It was, in most respects, a perfectly picturesque scene. The sun shone with uncharacteristic brightness, even for the clear skies of the frontier. A few lazy clouds drifted by, serenely casting gentle shadows on the thick forest below. A hot-air balloon, painted in a soothing pale orange, floated with them, keeping steady watch on the ground. The only thing missing was birdsong. 

Instead, a wanderer moving through the Jurassic Frontier would hear a rasping, barking call, intermingled with decidedly human cries of exertion, and, occasionally, panic. 

Broken bits of an old camp littered the clearing. Shiro planted his feet, slamming the huge axe he held into the ground, point first. There was a resounding clang as a pair of claws, each individual nail the size of his head, raked across the flat of the blade. Despite the sheer force of the blow, Shiro stood his ground. The huge, raptor-like creature that had lunged at him sprang back, using its broad tail as a prop to keep its hind legs up and ready to strike again. It reared, snarled, and shook the yellow feathered crest on its head. With a grunt, Shiro pulled his weapon out of the dirt and rolled under the Great Maccao as it pounced. 

Lance, for his part, was ready. He and Hunk had developed the maneuver a week ago, hoping it would see use. Now, they were field testing it for the first time. Like a stone wall, Hunk braced himself behind his shield. The solid construction of monster horn and metal absorbed the cutting power of the Great Maccao's claws, while the soft, fleecy wool lining the interior lessened the blunt impact against Hunk's arm. In his other hand, he held a long, cylindrical polearm, modeled on the moofahs the wool had been shaved from. His every instinct told him to retaliate, to riposte the blow with a thrust and a pull of the gunlance's trigger, but he held back. The timing needed to be just right. 

There was a sharp booming sound as Lance opened fire. Heavy ballista shot slammed into the monster's chest just as it rebounded off of Hunk's shield, and it flipped off balance. The spikes on its tail weren't enough to catch it as it tumbled backwards, snarling in dismay. Just as it went over, Hunk brought up his gunlance and thrust forward with all of his considerable might. The point of the lance hit home in the Maccao's flank, and he pulled the trigger. A shell roared through the shaft of the lance, and an explosion threw the Maccao even further back. Lance and Hunk cheered in unison, but the fight was far from over. 

Now, Keith stepped up. He fairly skipped over the ground, despite the apparent weight of his armor, and drew a long blade from its sheath in one smooth movement. A few of the Great Maccao's lesser kin tried to throw themselves in his way, but he merely spun. With a wordless roar, he put his weight into a broad stroke, and the hopping bird wyverns that did not get cut down completely by the blow were tossed aside. Not losing momentum, even for a second, Keith swung the blade overhead and leapt into the air. 

The edge of his own blade met with tough feathers overlapping scales at the same time that Shiro's own did. Blood sprayed from the deep, gashing wounds, but the Great Maccao hadn't given up the fight yet. It thrashed, kicking out and catching Shiro in the side. He went tumbling backwards, end over end, only barely managing to tuck the haft of his weapon up against his body so he wouldn't cut himself on it. The heavy black stone that his armor had been hewn from was much tougher than it looked, but he still felt the full impact of the blow. Regular Maccao were as large as Pidge. The Great Maccao was several times that height and weight and was proportionately much stronger. 

Needless to say, the kick had hurt. Shiro was thankful he hadn't cracked a rib. 

Keith backpedaled quickly, narrowly avoiding the flailing limbs of the monster. He stumbled, and kicked up a large cloud of dust as he scrambled to keep his footing. Already, Hunk was there, moving faster than his bulky armor and weapon would seem to allow, and his shield was up. The Great Maccao had no interest in a stumbling hunter, however, and its attention was fixed on Shiro. Unfortunately for the team's leader, his own attention was on the satchel of medicines he was carrying. Better to drink down a medicinal concoction now, and speed the healing after the hunt. The nigh-miraculous powers of the potions that hunters employed were well known, but even they had their limits. Shiro realized his mistake as he pulled out the bottle and looked up to see a very large bird wyvern bearing down on him from above. 

“Shiro! Eyes!” Lance shouted. His hands moved like lightning as he disengaged the ammunition canister he had loaded. Flicking a switch on the side of his bowgun, he moved an internal chamber into position. With a grunt, he pulled back the loading mechanism and took aim. His speed had not been quite enough, and Shiro was forced to dive under the scything talons and snapping jaw, landing heavily on his injured side. 

The Great Maccao wheeled and lowered its head, holding its tail high. It advanced slowly on Shiro, who had buried his head in his arms. Had it the intellect to do so, it would have wondered why its attacker was suddenly cowering. Among the monsters, however, Maccao were not known for their brilliance. Instead, it reared up to deliver a coup de grace, only to stagger drunkenly as a capsule hit it square between the eyes and detonated with a blinding flash. 

Shiro heard the blinding round go off, and he rolled, ignoring the pain in his side. He brought his weapon up, held it over his head, and focused all of his strength into one crushing blow. Just as the Great Maccao tripped forward, he brought the blade down like an avalanche. 

As the dust settled and the monster collapsed, Shiro allowed himself a grin. It had been a long, difficult hunt, but they had managed to bring down the predator harassing Bherna Village's farmers. Well. One half of the pair. Coran, Allura, and Pidge had set out to bring down the other one. He hoped that they had been successful as well. With a nod, he signaled the others on his team to start cleaning and carving the carcass, before finally opening up the bottle of medicine and taking a hearty swig. 

The relief was almost immediate. The potions didn't taste particularly good – in fact, they didn't taste particularly of anything – but that was of little concern when they could make the difference between a life lost and a hunter returning home safe. It was some beautiful miracle of nature's design that sweetening the tonics with honey increased their potency. 

The long walk back to camp was filled with jokes and congratulations. There were still several hours until sunset, but the group didn't expect to see the others return from their hunt until later. Fewer hunters meant a longer hunt, in most cases. Shiro was thankful he had brought a map of the frontier with him, as Lance had charged off without thinking to check the supply chest. Again. After bickering with Keith, it had fallen to Shiro and Hunk to get them both back on track. 

Much to their collective surprise, Coran, Allura, and Pidge were already waiting for them when they reached camp. Pidge was perched on a convenient log, jagged staff made from insect mandibles set aside, idly scratching affectionately at the large beetle beside her. Allura had slung her bow, which was decorated with pure-white flowers, across her back. She didn't see them, engaged as she was in conversation with Coran, who had left his oversize hunting horn next to Pidge's seat. He gave his returning compatriots a cheerful wave as he noticed their approach. 

Allura turned and smiled. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “We were starting to worry that you'd been hopelessly lost.”

“Or eaten by a wandering Deviljho!” Coran chimed in helpfully. Allura shot him a Look which he completely missed. 

“You didn't have any trouble yourselves?” asked Shiro, unslinging his heavy blade. 

“None at all. We got back two hours ago,” replied Allura. 

Pidge looked up. “Rover and I were going to set out to look for you,” she said. “What took you so long?”

Wordlessly, Shiro pulled out his map and gestured in the direction of Lance and Keith, who were already bickering once more. There were mentions of someone not getting a scale, or claw, or... well, Shiro didn't particularly care. Allura nodded in response. She had seen more than her fair share of the duo's disagreements, especially when the spoils of a hunt were involved. 

The airship to take them back to Bherna arrived within the hour. The trip back was smooth sailing, and the Felyne captain shared a story of a long-ago hunt they had been on, deep in the desert. Shiro had heard the story twice before, but he still enjoyed it. The life of a hunter had its risks, but stories getting old were the least of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a thing I had an idea for, and the idea wouldn't leave me alone. It happens sometimes. Hopefully good things result!
> 
> And yes, I did figure out which weapons and armor sets everyone is using before I started writing this. I may or may not be attempting to assemble full sets for use in Monster Hunter Generations. That would be silly. And far too much fun for me. Yes. That's the excuse I'm going with.
> 
> If you're not familiar with Monster Hunter, I'd suggest you give it a try! Imagine a game where you fight a dinosaur, turn it into a fancy new set of armor, and then go fight bigger dinosaurs. It's kind of like that. There's a lot of emphasis on teamwork, which is why I thought it was a great fit for Voltron and our favorite dysfunctional Paladin family.
> 
> I have a second chapter in the works, but I don't know if I'll do anything beyond that.
> 
> Oh my god that chapter title may be the stupidest pun I've come up with yet.


	2. Isla Malfestio, Part 1

When it came to Wyverians, Lance had learned three things. 

One, when hunting with them, don't assume they can hear better thanks to their pointy ears. Allura had reprimanded him sharply for letting his own guard down while they were in pursuit of a troublesome Gypceros.

Two, despite their long lives, they did not seem to take aging any more gracefully than humans did. Coran's frantic grooming upon finding a single grey hair one morning had proven that. 

Three, they were not immune to the lure of shiny new toys. 

Coran was practically drooling over the blueprint the smithy was showing him. “Oh, look at that,” he cooed. “A hunting horn after my own heart! Well, I say horn, but it's really a very intricate harp device that uses similar principles....” 

Lance rolled his eyes and shrugged, though not without some affection. “Don't you have a perfectly, um, 'good' horn already?” he asked. The horn in question looked like an overgrown saxophone, coated liberally with moss and a few venomously red mushrooms. He didn't care for the music, but its effects were hard to argue with. 

“But this is a brand new design!” Coran slapped the blueprint in his excitement. “Engineered to use the hypnotic effects of the Malfestio's scales!” 

“... so what you're saying is that it'll put us to sleep even faster than usual.” 

The glare that Coran gave Lance could have boiled water. His demeanor flipped back to enthusiastic the moment he turned to the smith again. “Just tell us what we'll need! I want to get this thing put together by tomorrow!” 

“Wait a second, what is this 'we' busi-”

 

Allura raised an eyebrow. “You two are going after a Malfestio.” It wasn't a question. 

Coran spoke before Lance could voice one of his numerous objections. “That's right! The smith has a new design he wants to try out and we're just the lads to do it.” 

“Well, alright. But I don't want the two of you alone out there.” It wasn't an entirely unreasonable concern. Lance's facility for losing the way even with a map and a barrel full of paintballs was practically legendary among the Hunter's Guild, and Coran (while usually keen to sense danger) had a habit of focusing a little too hard on minute details. 

“If you're coming along, I don't know if-” Allura cut Coran off before he could finish. 

“Shiro, Keith, and I are taking a trip to Val Habar,” she said. “Hunk is visiting Shay in Harth....” The Wyverian rested her head in her palm as she thought. “Ah! Pidge and Ulaz are hunting a Tetsucabra in that area soon. I believe they're getting on the airship for Moga Village in a few hours. You should join them!” 

“Well, if you say so.” The Wyverian turned to Lance, grinning. “You heard the lady! Let's go bag us a double hunt!”

At this point, Lance had given up trying to protest. At least they would get paid for their trouble, as a client from Moga had conveniently posted a request to have a Malfestio dealt with. He needed a new barrel for his bowgun. 

 

Aboard the airship, serenely making its way to over the waves, Lance watched a few seabirds pass by. He was, as he usually was when traveling, bored. He had joined up with the Hunter's Guild to live a life of danger and risk, adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt! Not waiting for a pilot to get him from place to place. Shiro had told him to savor the moments of peace and quiet, but his blood boiled whenever he sat in one place for too long. One day, he swore, he would find a way to put a saddle on a Rathalos. An Azure Rathalos, if he was lucky. He and Blue (as he had promised himself to name the creature) would be the envy of hunters everywhere.

Pidge hummed as she groomed her insectoid familiar nearby. Rover had settled in her lap, and occasionally twitched a mandible in a dreamy, half-asleep way. The beetle was large enough to cover all of its master's arm when on the hunt, but ultimately quite loyal and docile. It had creeped Lance out at first, but he couldn't deny how effective the two were when they worked in tandem. 

Ulaz and Coran were conversing genially on the other side of the deck, watching the waves go by. There was a pause, then a sudden hubbub of interest from the pair. “Lance! Pidge! Come look at this!” Coran shouted. 

Wondering if he'd spotted a rock formation that looked just like Allura, the two ambled over. Following Coran's pointing finger, they could see a flash of pale flesh and a spark of energy. 

Pidge was instantly more alert. She'd never seen a fully-grown Lagiacrus sunbathing before. The huge leviathan was notorious for only coming ashore rarely, and being hideously destructive when it did. Out in the open ocean, it seemed, they were far more relaxed. The strange, ridged organs on its back rose and fell with the beast's breathing, as it apparently held not a care in the world for a passing airship. Lance, for his part, was nearly transfixed. He had heard about how dangerous one could be, and to see it so seemingly docile...

“I've only ever seen a few out here,” said Ulaz. “And I'm always surprised. With how much trouble they've caused for Moga Village alone... you'd never think they could be calm and relaxed.”

“I remember when I had to hunt one of the rare white ones!” Coran added. “Took me three hours of swimming just to find where it was hiding. But then I found it, and it took another three hours to subdue the mighty beast. Why, I nearly....”

Lance and Pidge left Coran to ramble. He could match one of the masters of the Guild, also known as His Immenseness, for rambling ability. Their visit to Dundorma had been, as Keith had put it, a more dangerous slog than trekking through the sand-seas without a ship. They went back to their seats, and Pidge rummaged in her pack for something. Rover stirred as she pulled out a ceramic jar. The beetle paused, then buzzed excitedly as it recognized the scent of thick ambrosial nectar. 

“Here you go, boy.” Pidge ladled out a spoonful of the bluish, quivering substance. It was a natural product of certain plants – this particular nectar was commonly found in wetlands and other damp areas, excreted by the long reeds and gathered by bees or other hive-building insects. A savvy hunter could gather it. It made for a decent enough trail ration, provided one could stomach it. But, one rather observant hunter had noticed that his Kinsect companion would fairly well feast on the stuff. Jellies, made in a similar way to the ambrosias, helped the Kinsects grow strong and swift, but the ambrosias themselves seemed to enhance the properties of the glands under their mandibles. The nectar that Pidge was now feeding Rover helped the glands to produce a slick substance similar to water, which monsters that preferred dry, warm environs had difficulty dealing with. A Kinsect so armed could easily aggravate a much larger predator, and even cause serious damage with a few well-placed bites. 

Rover, of course, didn't care for any of this, and happily gobbled down the tasty treat his master had so generously offered. 

“So... Tetsucabra, huh?” Lance asked. He was bored enough to sit through a full monster biology lecture, which was saying something. 

“Yep.” Pidge didn't even look up; she spoke as she watched her familiar eat. “Got a request from one of the farmers. Apparently, the Tetsucabra's burrowed in to a cave that the wild moofahs out there were using for shelter. With them out of a place to stay, they've been invading the pastures. Well. The ones that haven't been eaten by predators.” 

“So it's just a big pest, then.” Idly, Lance picked through his bag of ammunition. Shiro had always reminded him to make sure he was fully stocked before setting out, to the point where it had actually become a habit. Lance felt that the older man deserved a trophy or something to commemorate a victory of that magnitude. 

“If you want to put it like that, sure. Tetsucabra don't usually live in areas this wet, which means it went for one of the driest locations it could find. And unfortunately for the food chain here, that's throwing a lot of things out of balance. If the ludroths can't hunt their normal prey, they'll die out, which means that they'll stop filtering the water around here. When they move, the Royal Ludroth will too. Which means that some of their prey animals will have a population explosion, and then die because of tainted water sources.”

“Wait, wait, go over that again? Ludroths filter water?” Lance had hunted several of the long-bodied amphibians before, and had seen their odd spongy manes – especially the massive one sported by the Royal Ludroth, leader of the pack – but had never fully understood their purpose. 

“Yeah. The sponges keep them hydrated on land and store oxygen when they're underwater, so they pick up all the dust and dirt and other nasty bits from the water. Then it all gets congealed into that goo they spit at people or predators. Helps keep the water pure.” 

“... huh. Well, I guess that means my idea of using a whole pile of their sponges as emergency airship landing gear isn't as good as I thought.” 

Pidge shook her head, still watching Rover. “Too absorbent. You'd have better luck with moofah wool. And that doesn't mean I think you should try that instead,” she added, giving Lance a pointed look. 

“Okay, okay, remobra-skin parachutes it is.”

“So what are you and Coran after?”

“Malfestio. Some guy wants it to stop chasing after him and giving him nightmares or something, I don't know.” 

“Interesting. I've never been able to see one up close,” said Pidge. 

“Me neither,” said Lance. “I guess it's some kind of big bird with scales under its feathers. Apparently it can hypnotize prey to put it to sleep. Something to do with light reflections.” 

“I'd be really interested in studying that, actually. Maybe some other time.” Pidge gave Rover an affectionate scratch on the carapace. The beetle chirped and clacked its mandibles together in appreciation. “Got a plan?”

“... shoot it until it dies?”

 

The island where this particular Malfestio was making its roost had a lovely view of the sea, and of Moga Village off in the distance. According to the request lodged with the Guild, it was now home to a particularly vindictive example of its species, as it had been regularly pursuing one of the fishermen for two weeks straight now. Each night, it would swoop over his boat on its return trip, trying to pluck him out of it or send him, covered in bleeding wounds, into the water. Despite his bravado, Lance was distinctly unsettled by these facts. He knew that monsters were often more clever than they were given credit for, and that they were very dangerous. His was a world that bred cunning and vicious predators. The fact that hunting these predators was a popular career choice was testament enough to that. Even so, few monsters acted with directed spite or malice. They were simply animals, following their instincts and surviving to see the next sunrise. Those that began to actively attack humans likely had gotten a taste for it – quite literally.

Lance shuddered. Malfestios were known to be patient hunters. This one had apparently chosen to hunt humans. It was too dangerous to let live, unfortunately. It might have been different had it sought targets of opportunity, or acted to defend a nest. But it was seeking out one man, night after night, swooping in to harass, hoping to drive him to a mistake that would open up the perfect opportunity for a kill. They had approached during the day, with some time before sunset, in hopes of catching the monster before it could depart for its own hunt. 

Pidge and Ulaz would be on the opposite side of the island, where a deep-running cave connected to an ancient lava tube, long since cooled. The Tetsucabra they were hunting had come to the island from wherever the tunnel led. Few wanted to really find out just how far it went, and Pidge suspected that the Guild was planning to send some specialists to block it off after they succeeded in dealing with the amphibious monster. The airship had descended upon the shores quietly, letting the two parties disembark with little fanfare, and, hopefully, the element of surprise preserved. 

The twilight over the deserted island was not quite at the stage of setting the sky aflame, but rather it was shades of pink interspersed with blue and the burned-marshmallow texture of the low-hanging clouds. Soon, as the stars began to glimmer, the Malfestio would leave its roost. Their best chance to stop it was to find its cave before the moon rose, and to hem it in. Tracking monsters was difficult enough in their favored environments, and doubly so when the monster in question could fly. Lance had brought a few paint rounds for his bowgun, which he had loaded up in anticipation. Another lesson from Shiro – plans rarely survived for long after meeting head-on with the target of a hunt. The nearly fluorescent paint would stand out against the more soothing natural colors surrounding them. Furthermore, the core of the rounds, as well as the more mundane paintballs employed by hunters without projectile weaponry, was far more viscous and would leave a bright trail on whatever surface it dripped on. Finally, the berries from which the markers were made had a distinctive, piercing scent that was difficult to ignore or disperse, even in water. As a tracking tool, it was simple, but marvelously effective. If the Malfestio fled, got past them, or had another exit that they couldn't block, they would be able to track it. 

The island itself was somnolent, with only the low chirping of small, crepuscular insects to underscore the silence. Lance could feel the tension in his shoulders, under the plates of blue, coarse hide that made up his armor. Taken from an arctic beast, the Zamtrios, it insulated him well against the cold and was designed to absorb the recoil from his weapon. Coran was also outfitted in blue, but his was the deeper azure of a Guild bard's uniform. Among their little group, Coran was effectively their chronicler and liason with the Guild, and the dashing hat he wore fit the image he held of himself. Under most circumstances, Lance would never admit to it, but he did hold some respect for the eccentric Wyverian. It took courage and a certain kind of grit to hold the front lines of a fight, and a determined cleverness to use a hunting horn effectively. Paired with the fire of his own heavy bowgun, the two were the most reliable support crew among their hunting comrades. Now, however, they tracked in silence, aiming to take on a monster, head to head. They followed the telltale signs of Malfestio nesting – the occasional spot of glittering orange dust, left from the scales; claw marks and wing marks in the soft dirt; broken tree branches from the canopy – to a mountain cave. The sheer cliff face below it promised a daunting climb. Lance steeled himself for it, but found himself held back by Coran's grip on his shoulder. 

“It'll be too slow going that way,” said Coran, in low tones. Anything else seemed inappropriate, almost blasphemous, in the quiet wilderness. “By the time we reach the cave, the beast will be gone.” He glanced at the cliff. “Come on, I have an idea.” 

Reluctantly, Lance followed Coran up a side trail, hewn long ago by the passing feet of some herd of herbivores. The wind picked up, but remained at a soft moan, and not the dread howling of an ocean gale. Clouds gathered on the horizon, possibly forewarning a storm. Ill weather for a hunt indeed. The only creature more dangerous in a night storm than a Malfestio was the lightning-quick Nargacuga, but that, thankfully, made its home farther inland. In either case, the sanguine glow of the beast's eyes would be the only clue that they were near. Out of habit, Lance checked his magazine as they approached a ridge. Yes, the paint rounds were still chambered. Good. He had strapped a canister of more mundane ammunition to the side, ready to load as soon as the paint had marked their target. On his thigh, he had belted a canister of cluster-explosive rounds. A last resort, given that it would prove as dangerous to Coran as to the Malfestio, but a highly effective one. Various other types of ammunition lay nestled in the gunner's pouch he had slung across his back. He hoped he would not need some of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is fun to write for. Like, I know he's a lot smarter than people give him credit for, but his ego just keeps getting in the way. 
> 
> When I saw the promotional material for Monster Hunter Generations, the Malfestio was basically what sold me on the game. Well, that and the Mizutsune, but goddamn was I thrilled with the design. Fighting it is fun too, and I'm glad I went back and re-hunted it a few times while writing this chapter. 
> 
> I decided that we needed more Voltron characters. So Ulaz got made a hunter! I figured it made the most sense, since he had the closest ties to the team. Hopefully I'll get a chance to show him in action sooner rather than later.
> 
> This chapter also contains a few headcanons on how certain bits of hunter gear work. I couldn't resist.


	3. Isla Malfestio, Part 2

The cave entrance waited like an open mouth. Heat began to bear down on Lance and Coran as they lowered themselves down the cliff face, landing in near silence on an outcropping. The hairs on the backs of their necks were rising, as if sensing the impending storm. The clouds were only growing thicker. Soon – not immediately, but perhaps within the hour – they would rumble with unspent thunder and smother the moonlight streaming down. 

Coran dropped, catlike, to a ledge. A heavier, more metallic weapon than his might have rattled at the impact, but the soft moss coating absorbed the sound. Lance dropped down as well, hoping the clatter of his own weaponry wouldn't make much noise. Already he had unslung his bowgun and snapped the barrel into place. Larger models, like his, had more power and accuracy, but needed to fold up in order to be carried. Deploying them was more difficult, but Lance considered the tradeoff worth it. He was already holding it ready, eyes down the sights. The darkness was impenetrable. The cave walls had been worn smooth by wind over time, and the sound of their footsteps bounced ever so slightly off of them. The passage was wide enough to admit four or even five people side-by-side. Under ordinary circumstances, Lance would have asked Coran to light a torch. Here, however, he did not. The light would give their quarry an early warning, and any advantage was to be used when hunting monsters. 

Coran narrowed his eyes. The Malfestio would be getting ready to hunt soon. Flying beasts of any sort, but particularly those of the True Bird Wyvern genus, liked shelter with quick, easy access to the sky. This tunnel was going on for too long to be the nest. Setting his jaw, he unslung his hunting horn from its perch on his back. His mustache was twitching. That always heralded danger. It had saved him from a Tigrex ambush, from a falling boulder on Heaven's Mount, and even from the looming threat of an invisible Chameleos. It paid for a man to listen to his mustache. 

The cave came to an abrupt end. In the fading light from outside, the two hunters could see a small pile of bones – the remains of various fish and small creatures. They could even see the bones of a few moofahs scattered about. No doubt about it, a monster of some kind had been using this as a hideaway to eat.... 

A rustling noise behind them caused Lance and Coran to spin in place. Silhouetted by the setting sun, the Malfestio loomed in the cave entrance. Deep azure feathers almost blended into the darkening sky, while the fiery golds of its underlying scales nearly burned in comparison. The feathers on its legs and chest were tinged in the same color, having accumulated scale dust over time. Though it lacked the long, fanged muzzles or cleaving jaws of many other monsters, its short, rounded beak was still strong enough to shear through bone with little effort. But it's eyes were what held the attention of the hunters. Brighter red than blood, glinting with dark intelligence, and set in a mask of white feathers, the Malfestio's eyes watched them like a fisherman watching a line. 

There was an unearthly shriek as the beast suddenly angled itself forward, wings extending into beautiful, deadly fans. Its wingtalons glinted as it howled. With a ferocious gust of wind, it flapped its wings and shot backwards, letting the last of the setting sun hit the duo full in their faces. 

Coran dived for the floor, temporarily blinded. Lance was not quite so lucky. On reflex, he pulled the trigger on his bowgun and heard a wet splat as the paint round hit... something. He stumbled back, trying to shield his eyes from the sudden glare, and found himself bowled over by a cloud of choking dust. Coran counted off in his head: _one. Two. Three. Four._ He rolled, bringing his horn up in a defensive position. 

Nothing happened. The Malfestio had gone, leaving him alone with Lance as he coughed and gagged. 

“Come on, up,” said Coran. He helped Lance to his still unsteady feet. “That bird can't have gone far!”

Lance swayed, turned, and ran face-first into the cave wall.“em ot gnihtemos did oitseflaM eht kniht I, naroC,” he garbled. “thgiarts ees t'nac I!” 

“Looks like you can't walk straight, either,” Coran replied. “Must be the scale dust. Does funny things to your head.” 

“gniddik oN.” Lance's expression was a mix of total puzzlement and annoyance. He tripped over a discarded femur. “saedi ynA?”

“Um... I'm going to pretend I understood what you said, and agree that we should keep moving.”

“dias I tahw ton s'tahT!” 

“Good thing you managed to hit it with that paint round.” Coran indicated a bright pink splotch at the cave entrance. “Shiro always said you were the best sharpshooter out of all of us!” 

“taht dias orihS, tiaw – drib piduts taht hctac I nehW?” Lance shook his head. His vision was clearing a little, becoming less of a storm of swirling distortions and more like the orderly way he normally perceived the world. It was disorienting, not seeing everything revolve around him. 

“Load up some real ammo, and let's take this bird down!” Coran charged out of the cave, horn at the ready. Lance followed behind slowly, having to concentrate wholly on not stumbling over his own feet. With a yell, Coran grabbed him and hurled the both of them off the cliff, plunging towards the ground below. 

A flash of pink and orange in the trees revealed the Malfestio's position. It had flown into cover, likely expecting the hunters to pursue it regardless of their being ambushed. Whatever stealth the hunters had managed was now lost as Lance screamed all the way down, stopping only when they both landed with some small amount of grace on the forest floor. The state of confusion he'd been in hadn't been enough to override his Guild training, and he and Coran both let their armor totally absorb the impact of the fall. The monster hide and bone had faced tougher impacts on a daily basis, and the construction of the boots and greaves was designed to completely disperse the shock of landing. Given the environs in which many monsters made their homes, such precautions were the least of preparations hunters went through. 

The Malfestio was waiting for them. It screeched again, eyes glinting dangerously. Lance shook his head and felt the last of the confusion leave him. The shock of the fall and landing had done most of the work in that department. Now, he slammed a canister of ammunition into the chamber of his bowgun and opened fire. The first shot went wide, and the Malfestio hopped closer, perching on its claws to swipe at the charging Coran. 

There was an odd whistling noise as Coran swung his weapon, and he managed a glancing blow across the monster's wing. It retaliated with a swipe of its talons, and Coran simply let his weapon's momentum carry him away from the riposte. Lance fired again, and clipped the Malfestio's other wing. Before it could wheel on him, Coran had stepped up once more and dealt a hard blow to its chest, fingers on the keys of the horn in a different configuration, producing a different note. He followed with a third, striking the same spot, but with yet another sound. As the Malfestio reeled back, fury growing, Coran rolled away and put his lips to the end of the horn. 

The leaves of the nearby bushes rattled as the Malfestio swept up and into the air, wheeling for momentum. It swooped low, rushing towards Coran like a blue thunderbolt. Lance scarcely had time to aim before he had to dive aside and under the glinting wingtalons. Coran, however, stood his ground. The sequence of notes he had played as he swung his weapon rang out again, and he blew on the horn. 

With a shriek of pain, the Malfestio toppled over mid-flight. The notes had gone off like a sonic bomb. Taking advantage of its dazed state, Coran slammed his horn into it again and again, chaining together notes and songs and blows in a symphony of violence. The blunt weapon's impact was lessened by the armored feathers and scales of the beast, but the blast had served another purpose. It had given Lance time to reload. 

The Malfestio thrashed itself back to its feet, catching Coran with a wing as it did so. The Wyverian went flying, landing roughly and rolling. Still, despite its foppish looks, his armor was still fully servicable in hunting. He was saved from the worst of the blow, but it still hurt. He gritted his teeth and fought his way back upright. The Malfestio leapt forward, wings wide and beak open in a vengeful howl, only to be stopped as a spray of pellets hit it head-on. It swiveled its head away from its original target and fixed its eyes on Lance. It shrieked and charged, and Lance fired again. This blast went wide, and a few pellets nicked the monster's ear as it bent low. Its talons lashed out and Lance dodged at the last second, twisting his body under the blow in an acrobatic tumble. In the same motion, he pulled the canister of cluster explosive rounds off of his thigh and slammed it into the chamber of his bowgun. As he rolled, he brought it up and took careful aim. He could only fit one of the volatile rounds in a clip, and they were difficult to make. This shot would have to count. 

The Malfestio twisted to face him – first the head, as it stood bolt upright, then the rest of the body followed. 

Coran finished the potion he had pulled from his pack. 

Lance held the bowgun as steady as he could, fighting the shaking in his arms. 

Silently, the Malfestio pounced, flapping its wings. 

Lance fired. 

His armor cushioned most of the force of the bowgun's recoil as the volatile shot left its barrel, but he still had to step back to avoid being knocked flat on his back. There was a dull roar as the shot whipped through the air, followed by a wince-inducing smack as it collided with the Malfestio's chest. It swept its wings forward, trying to generate enough force to carry it back and away from the hunter, but it succeeded only in slowing its charge. Lance turned and bolted as far away as he could. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

The Malfestio's cry of pain was drowned out by the blast of the explosion. Both Lance and Coran hit the dirt. Shards of tough husk – the remnants of the casing – zipped by overhead. As the dust cleared, the two hunters scrambled to their feet. 

There was a roar, unlike the screeches and howls from before. This was no hunting call, but an expression of pure rage. The last of the dust was blown away as the Malfestio flapped its wings, rustling the scales underneath and letting loose a cloud of choking gold powder. Its ears, which had been folded downwards like the sides of a jester's cap, now stood upright, revealing a crimson interior. Its eyes now practically shone with anger and bloodlust. Coran began slowly backing away, knowing that it would only attack more swiftly and viciously now. Lance's attacks had done little more than open a few superficial wounds. 

With a whirl, the Malfestio took off. Gold powder flew everywhere, and both hunters scrambled to get away from the clouds. Lance just slightly too slow, and he found himself engulfed. 

“gniht siht etah ot gnitrats yllaer m'I!” he growled, before rolling into another dodge. He narrowly missed hitting a nearby tree. He yelped as the Malfestio bore down on him, eyes full of vengeance. Lance bolted. 

Unfortunately, he had unthinkingly bolted in the first direction available to his disoriented brain, which in this case was away from Coran. The Wyverian shouted, “Wait! Lance! This way!” 

“yaw taht gninnur ma I!” Lance shot back. “gniyebosid era teef yM!” 

“Try doing the opposite!” It was a shot in the dark, but....

Lance decided, through the fog of confusion, that if he was going to be eaten by a huge bird, he may as well try a new tactic anyway. He forcefully told his legs to run _away_ from Coran, and they dutifully propelled him back towards his hunting partner. The Malfestio screeched to a halt, clearly not expecting the sudden reversal of direction. Lance ducked under an outstretched wing, and then wondered why Coran was hefting his hunting horn. 

“Sorry, Lance, but it's for your own good,” Coran muttered. And he swung. The horn clobbered Lance, knocking him end over end.

Lance popped back up almost instantly. “Hey!” he snapped. “What the he-” He blinked. His head was clear! Just as he was about to thank Coran rather than berate him, the Wyverian shoved him roughly aside, just in time to avoid getting raked by the Malfestio's talons. 

“Less talking, more shooting!” said Coran. Silently, Lance agreed. He hefted his bowgun as he dashed away, trying to think of what ammunition would help him most. Another explosive shot was risky. Thinking quickly, he popped in a canister with a flash bomb. Disorienting the beast now, while it was too enraged to think, would buy them some valuable time. 

It was only as he turned that he realized that he was no longer the focus of the Malfestio's anger. Coran was rolling skillfully away, but the huge owl-like monster was harrying him with wingblades and talons. It fluttered upwards, loosing another cloud of dust. With a massive burst of displaced air, it dropped like a stone, sending the dust straight for Coran. 

The cloud hit like a tidal wave, and Lance could see Coran's eyes cross as the strange properties began to take hold. The Malfestio, however, did not press the attack. It flapped back, perching on a fallen log, watching Coran to see how he fared. 

The Wyverian, to his credit, regained his footing fairly well. The vertiginous tilting of his vision threw him off somewhat, but he had retained his sense of balance. Then, the Malfestio made its second gambit. It threw its wings up, letting the silvery ends of its azure feathers catch the last of the fading sunlight. A dazzling pattern lit up on the inside of its wings, and something very much like a beam of light cut its way through the clearing, catching Coran directly in the eyes. 

Lance watched the other hunter sway momentarily, before his grip on his horn slackened. Without thinking, Lance charged. Coran knew better than to let go of his weapon. Whatever the Malfestio had done, it was serious. The Wyverian swayed again, before dropping to the ground like a stone. 

With such slow purposefulness that it had to be savoring the moment, the Malfestio approached the fallen hunter. Twigs snapped under its talons. Its feathers rustled in the breeze, mingling with the chorus of the leaves. Coran didn't move. 

“HEY! UGLY!” Lance shouted at the top of his lungs. The Malfestio snapped its attention to him. First the head whirled around, then the rest of its body followed. It reared back-

And caught a flash bomb between the eyes. 

Warbling dazedly, the Malfestio staggered. Lance hurtled past it, already loading his highest-quality pellet rounds. He fired a few shots of opportunity as he went by, but didn't bother to confirm any hits. Instead, he knelt down, attempting to see if Coran was still breathing. 

Lance allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Yes, Coran was alive. He even seemed to be snoring faintly, as though asleep. In fact, whatever had happened, Coran seemed to have been put into a deep slumber. Lance stood back up and planted his feet on either side of his friend's prone form. Setting his jaw, he hefted the bowgun once more. The Malfestio had apparently recovered, and now it glared at him. He pulled the trigger. 

Spray after spray of pellets hit the beast, and only once did Lance stop to reload. The Malfestio gamely tried to push through to its attackers, but the shrapnel proved to be too strong a deterrent. It backed away, in an undignified sort of waddle, before taking back to the sky. Drops of paint still fell from the splotches where it had been marked, only a few minutes ago. It felt like hours. 

Coran stirred. “Lance?” he mumbled. “That's odd, I was dreaming about....” 

“About a giant bird nearly eating you? Not a dream.” 

“Well. That explains the pain in my head then.” Coran rolled over and pulled himself into a sitting position. He kneaded his temples. “Don't know what hit me.” 

“Some kind of weird reflecty-beam-thing. I don't know how, but apparently Malfestios can hypnotize people or something.” 

“That would explain why they're so hard to track down.” Coran stretched, then stood and looked for his hunting horn. 

“It's flown off,” said Lance. “Now what?”

“We'll follow the trail.” With a small grunt, Coran slung his horn over his shoulder. “Between your shots and the poison from this little wonder, it won't get very far.”

Some distance away, Pidge and Ulaz emerged from a tunnel entrance, weary and beaten, but hauling the successful spoils of a Tetsucabra hunt. The large frog-like creature had given them some trouble, but a timely cut from Ulaz had broken its mighty, boulder-digging tusks. Now, they were bringing back some of the hide, meat, and a few choice bones. The meat would be roasted and dried, the hide put to use sharpening tools, and the bones... well, perhaps they would be forged into armor, or a weapon. The rest of the beast, they had left for the scavengers. Being the size of a small fishing boat, it would have been far more effort than it was worth to haul the whole carcass to the surface. 

The wind whistled fiercely, and both hunters ducked to avoid a flying ball of multi-hued anger. 

Pidge blinked. “Is it just me, or did that look like...?”

“An injured Malfestio?” answered Ulaz. 

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

Smiling grimly, Ulaz hefted his sword and shield. “Come on, then. Let's not keep our friends waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God dammit this was supposed to be a single-chapter fight but instead it's turned into three friggin' chapters. Oh well. 
> 
> The most fun bit of this chapter was rendering the Malfestio's Confusion status effect into text by reversing Lance's dialogue. I'll edit this later to include mouseover text translations for those who have difficulty decoding it, but I'm uploading this just before work so it has to be quick at the moment.


End file.
